Chad sat in his study, pen in hand, journal open. He hadn't thought it would be easy to write something akin to a memoir, but he hadn't thought it would be this hard. His memories were murky. His childhood, although not fantastic, had enough drama. Though they weren't the most dazzling events, they should have allowed him enough material to bulk up a memoir like a body-builders biceps. At least that's what he felt like he was writing. A memoir from the time June arrived on scene. At the very least, his past should have filled a few chapters, or at a horrid stretch, a few pages.

He threw his pen down. The whole thing made his stomach churn anxiously. Terry had called the last night, wanting to see how he was going and he had confidently, perhaps too confidentially told her he was going as well as a shark swimming in a school of anchovies. However, in reality, he was stuck between two sordid sentences.

'I was a young five-year-old with an unusual height on me,' and 'Jo was always making me feel short because she was a centimetre taller, despite only being five minutes older.'

What the hell is this? He stared at the two sentences. "And in which world do those two facts sound remotely clever or intriguing, Chaddy!" he muttered in mock-Terry voice with his hands on his hips. Not that he'd ever seen Terry do that. One hand maybe, with a tilt of her head that meant business. Either way, mock-Terry was right. Those were two of the worst sentences he had ever strung together.

He reached for his phone and scrolled the contact list until he found the name he was looking for. Jo.

"Yellow!" He heard her stretch her word out. "What do you want?"

"Oh, hi, Chad, how are you?" he mocked. "What are you doing?"

"Birthing an elephant. You want to come and help?"

So abrupt was her question that a snippet of his dream where Jo had been 'pregnant' flashed across his mind. "I didn't know you were preggers with an elephant," he replied flatly.

"Not funny, Chad!" she barked. He could hear her huffing. "What's up? Still alive, then?"

"Not for long though, I wager."

Jo suddenly laughed. "Terry?"

"Always." There was a moment of silence, and Chad wondered if the line had cut off. Sometimes parts of the zoo where his sister worked had little to no reception. "Jo?"

"Yeah," she grunted. "I'm seriously helping a mama elephant birth a baby elephant I can't imagine pushing out myself, so unless Terry is in your house right now wielding a very sharp letter opener, I'll have to call you later." The line went dead as she was saying, "Call ya later."

Chad crinkled his nose at the dial tone. Then he called his mum. "You busy? I'm coming over."

"Sure, bring a bottle of red. I'm fresh out." Chad's mum was always 'fresh out' of wine whenever her children were coming over. Ever since her husband up and left one day nearly ten years ago, she had taken up drinking wine like it was a newfound hobby. She was always ready for 'at least' a glass, which usually turned to two, then three and so on until either the wine ran out, or she fell asleep, drooling.

As Chad grabbed his car keys and headed out, he remembered, between June, Setal and himself, for the first time in a year, his own house was 'dry'. Time for a restock.

♡

Chad meandered along the aisles with an empty trolley. What was he going to do with his miserable memoir sans novel? He'd begun from the moment he'd bought two first-class tickets to Thailand with the plan to pop the question and come back engaged.

"Watchit!" He heard a shrill cry of an elderly woman and looked up to see he had nearly toppled a corner stack of goons in his daze. The gawking look made him shrivel, and he quickly slipped into the next aisle, away from the loathsome look. The woman's scowl may as well have said, 'Really? A memoir of Chad Gilligan? You may as well write cat memes.'

His faint smile disappeared. Sure, Chad Gilligan doesn't sound interesting, but what if I say, Zachary Eve, then the story will sell itself, won't it?

"Not likely." A staff member briskly turned to Chad from merchandising the spirits section he had unknowingly strolled into.

"I beg your pardon?"

The smiling man was boyish. Chad wasn't sure if he was of legal age, let alone allowed to work in a liquor store. "Zachary Eve's stories don't sell because of his name. Besides, you can't take another writer's name."

Chad blinked at the cherub-faced youngster. "What?"

"Sorry, you were talking to yourself about a daydream I guess." He twirled the bottles around so the labels faced forwards. "You're an aspiring writer?"

Chad shook his head. The kid nodded without even looking. And yes, Chad would refer to the boy as a kid in his head.

"I wanted to be a writer growing up," the kid was muttering.

And what about once you stop growing? Chad fought the urge to ask, or to suppress the smile the thought caused.

"But it wasn't for me; all those unpaid hours of work and still no guarantee."

Chad smiled. He did not understand how or even when he'd entered a one-way conversation, but at the rate the sentences were coming, he had the image of the two of them picking nits off one another, in a line, akin to Chimps. He shook his head and let the thought loose. "Where are the reds?" he interrupted as his hip vibrated with an incoming call. The kid pointed back down the aisle and two over as Chad gladly answered the call. "Mum."

"What's the matter with you?"

"Nothing," Chad answered cautiously.

"I heard from you an hour ago," his mum pointed out. "It's an hour, Chad. Why aren't you here with the wine?"

"I'm picking it up now."

"Good, grab two!" The dial tone beeped in his ear abruptly for the second time that day. Chad still hadn't gotten used to mum hanging up the phone once done. Often, as a teen, he'd still talked long after she'd hung up before he even realized.

Chad ambled into the red wine section and gathered a few of his favourites and two of mum's favourites. He might as well stock up on some bottles as it seemed June enjoyed joining him now and then for a tipple. By the time he reached the counter, there were nearly a dozen bottles in his trolley. And so it floweth! He handed his credit card, hoping June would be happy he'd picked up some she had liked.

When he got to his mother's, it was late afternoon. He sat at her breakfast nook and helped her nurse one bottle. Between sips, he popped small pre-cut cubes of cheese. Marjorie, his mother, was nothing if not a connoisseur, and adamant no one should drink on an empty stomach. She'd even laid out some crackers, though they tasted a little stale.

She narrowed her dull brown eyes at him as he nibbled on a cracker. Her mousy thin lips in a thoughtful pout. "So, what's up with you?"

"I can't write."

"You can't write like you can't pick up a pen or type because your hands are sore? Or you can't write because you got nothing to write?"

"The latter."

"You always do this, you know?"

"Do what?"

"Give up every time life chucks a lemon at you." She reached over the benchtop for the fruit bowl and grabbed a lemon from the pile. She then threw it at him, hitting him square on a shoulder before the weapon thudded to the floor and rolled away. "Make bloody lemonade. And if your lemonade is crap, chuck a spirit in there and make a cocktail. By the time anyone can tell it's bad, they won't care."

Chad sighed, realizing there was something odd about her today. She had always been a little on the eccentric side, but she seemed off today, even by her standards. He grabbed the lemon from the floor and passed it back. "What's the matter with you then?"

"Jackson called last night," she whimpered, reaching for the wine bottle and pouring more into her glass till the stemware overflowed. Chad grabbed some paper towel and soaked up the spill. He knew she'd hate to clean up after herself once he left.

"What did he want?" Chad tossed the soggy paper into the bin. "Did he call to gloat about another girlfriend of his?"

Marjorie gulped her wine in between exaggerated wails. "He called to say he was back!"

Chad's face fell. The last time he'd seen his father was when the man waved goodbye from the end of the driveway, slipped into a cab, and headed for the airport, and off to Europe. Jackson had been out of the picture about as long as Chad had the leather journal he was defacing with his attempted memoir-novel, thing.

"What does he want with us?" he asked, hoping he didn't sound hurt. Chad had turned twenty-four and just signed his first book deal when dad, inspired by him no less, had decided to live his own dream. He left them to chase wanderlust of a young man trapped in the body of an old man, across Europe. The last they'd heard, he was shacking up with young women who fell for his gritty, charming self. Chad had never met either of these personalities and severely doubted the old git was 'charming'.

"He wants to come by tomorrow," his mother blurted. "He was asking if you two could come around."

"What does he want with us? Is he dying?"

Marjorie shook her head. "Just said he had news. One can only assume what that might be." She sipped at her wine bitterly. "Maybe he has a young fiancé he wants to show off." Her laughter betrayed the hurt inside.

"I bet he is dying, and he wants to make up for all these years, to apologise for leaving you after twenty-six years of solid marriage." Chad defiantly put down his glass, convinced that the only reason Jackson would show his face again, was if he were dying.

"He used to cheat on me, honey. I hardly call that a solid."

Chad peered at his mother as she stared out the window, to some old memories he guessed. "How did you even fall in love with him?"

"That's a story for another day." She turned with a rueful smile. "You tell me why you can't seem to write anymore." She opened the second bottle, tears streaming down her face.

Chad slid his glass to her and watched her top it up. "It's not that I'm not writing. It's..."

"You're writing is crap?"

He nodded. He didn't really know how to say it out loud as it already sounded ridiculous in his head. "I'm trying to write a memoir so I can turn into a novel."

For that, he got a face full of wine when his mother burst out laughing. "Are you trying to bore people to death?" She shook her head, still laughing. "Accept, maybe the part where Sefal left you at the altar. That was gold."

"It's Setal, ma. And she didn't leave me at the altar. She left me at the 'will you marry me?' bit." He cracked a smile. "She didn't let me get to the good part."

His mother laughed harder and slapped the counter. "Oh Chad, you always know how to pick 'em."

"Them?"

"The flaky ones, like your father, the ones who can't stick it out. I guess you get that from me."

♡

It was well past eight o'clock when Chad finally sat up alert despite having devoured well over three bottles of wine with his mother. "Oh my God, I've got to call her." He rose unsteadily from the sofa. They'd been watching old home videos till Marjorie had dozed off.

"Call who?" she grumbled, interest slightly piqued.

"June!" He scrambled for the phone in the kitchen before he could even notice his mother sitting bolt upright. "Who's June?"

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